


An Outsider in Every Way

by ShahHira



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, One Shot, Slight Smut, The Outsiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:53:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5218733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShahHira/pseuds/ShahHira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't escape forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Outsider in Every Way

**Author's Note:**

> So this took 4 days to write. New World Record for me!
> 
> This is my first experiment with smut (and other things: see end notes) so tell me what you think! Yeah, I’ve sunken quite deep into the fandom. Where did this idea come from? It's a spoiler, so check the notes at the end. I kinda said "screw it" - as I always do - towards the end, so if it gets lazy you know why.
> 
> Apparently, my favorite number is making itself obvious with each fic I write; 2 is becoming a recurring theme. I don’t even really like the number 2…

“I have to leave soon.”

A haze of smoke punctuates the sentence, clouding the view of the wide movie screen, its black and white projection coming through thickly through the windshield. From his slouched posture, Mark turns to look at Jack in the passenger seat who is equally, if not more, laid back into his seat, cigarette pinched between his fingers. Half-lidded eyes meet his.

“Well, you can leave when Gina confesses her love for Fred.” He flicks his gaze back to the movie. Sounds of a fist fight come out of a tiny speaker in the car, corresponding with the view on-screen. “Or when Fred gets mowed down by her three exes. Whichever comes first.”

“You’ve seen this movie a gazillion times. Why the flying fuck are we watching this?”

“Because I’m watching it with you.”

Silence. A smirk appears on Mark’s lips. “That shut you up quick.”

A sulking grumble reaches his ears. “You got a cig? I’m out.”

Mark considers toying around with him some more, but decides against it. He fishes one out from an inner pocket. Best not to come between a man and his pleasures. Still…

“Never thought I’d see the day Jackaboy’d be all outta Camels. You nervous or something?” he taunts, well aware of the shit he’s throwing himself into.

“No.”

Short and crabby, the one-word sentence eggs Mark on. “The crap you smoking for then? The heck of it?”

“Yeah.”

Again with the curt reply. This time, Mark fully turns towards Jack, setting his feet down from the dash. The dim moonlight makes it easier to see, but not by much. It doesn’t really matter, though; he knows his car inside and out. “We don’t have much time as it is. If you’re gonna spend it being all gloomy and shit…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jack waves impatiently, restless in his seat. “It’s just… the boys are havin’ a rough few weeks, and it’s rubbing off on me…” He rubs a stiff hand across his forehead, leg jiggling up and down. His gaze is fixed on the movie screen outside.

Mark takes in every tick, every movement. Wordlessly he leans in, gently pulling in Jack to his chest, and reclines back into the driver’s seat. The body in his arms melts in an instant.

Then Jack starts to wiggle, gradually increasing in strength. “You god damn piece of shite, lemme go,” he mutters under his breath. Mark secures his hold, closing his eyes and burying his face into his neck. A low, involuntary groan escapes Jack’s lips and Mark chuckles, savoring the warmth. “I wouldn’t touch you with a slimy fifteen-foot pole on a sunny day in Ireland, that’s how disgusting you are…” He continues on, quietly spewing out profanities.

Mark rests his chin on Jack’s leather-covered shoulder, the body practically putty in his arms. “There’s that feistiness you’re known for…” he drags out the words, rumbling them deep in his chest for a stimulating effect.

The squirms coming from Jack tell him he’s succeeded. “Can we just watch the stinkin’ movie? If I wanted to have sex I’d hire a prostitute.”

Mark’s eyebrows shoot up, impressed at his bluntness. Then, he snickers. “What makes you think I wanna do the deed with you?” Out of the corner of his eye he notes the barely-used cigarette in Jack’s fingers. “It’s those broads with the charming sundresses and fancy hats…” He hums in approval. “Those’re the ones that get me.”

“Hmph,” Jack snorts. “Nothing beats good ‘ol Irish women: long ginger hair, milky-white skin, just the right amount of freckles… Too bad nothing comes close in this garbage country,” he sighs. “Just a bunch of disappointing skirts strolling around, acting like they’re something hot…”

Jack half-turns in Mark’s embrace, sitting sideways, legs spilling over the center console. A smile struggles to surface above his worried frown. “Besides, I feel different with you. You’re something… more, ya know?”

“Oh?” Mark grins and cocks his head forward, mouth grazing against Jack’s thin beard. “Then how the fuck do you feel about me, huh?” He starts rocking his body back and forth, swaying Jack along with his momentum. “Huh?”

“Shut… shut yer trap, you know exactly the way I feel…”

In the filtered glow of the forgotten movie, a mischievous grin graces Mark’s lips. “Do I? Huh, do I? Ya know what? ‘Ere,” he says, and plants a fiery kiss. Jack quickly takes over, long and wanting, consuming Mark’s mind. It’s twice as better than any girl Mark’s ever kissed.

Everything is twice as better with Jack, actually.

With an effort he breaks it off abruptly, reveling the haze of elation Jack is still in. He smooths down Jack’s jacket, one corner of his mouth tilting up in amusement. “Now shut up and watch the damned movie,” he commands. “Paid a good twenty cents for your ass…”

“Yes, sir…” Jack shakes his head, then rests it back on Mark’s chest, their breathing matching, forgetting about their lives except for each other in this moment.

______

“She whinin’ again?”

The pair looks down at the elaborate yet familiar arrangement of metal under the hood, some parts shining chrome while others are left with a dirty layer of grime. Jack nods solemnly, wiping ink-blotted hands onto his pants.

Mark places gloved hands on his hips, staring intently for anything out of place. “Didya check the brakes?”

“Of course I checked the brakes, you numbskull,” Jack mutters, but he’s not paying much attention to Mark’s unhelpful suggestions. He leans his weight onto the hood, sighing tiredly. “It’s not a brake whine, that’s for sure. Seems to be coming from the depths of hell down here…” He splays a hand towards his right, making a circling motion above the offending parts.

“Lemme see if I have any tools in my car that can help with diggin’ around,” Mark offers. With a distracted nod from Jack, Mark walks the short distance. They’re in a neutral part of town, miles away from either of their gang’s territories. The gas station is nearly abandoned, its district conveniently far enough from being recognized by the odd passer-by yet still close enough for them to get back into town without suspicion.

Seeing his signature red paint job makes Mark’s heart soar with pride. He pops the trunk, rooting around in simple contentment. There are few things or people in his world that give him a similar feeling as his car does. One of them is just a few feet behind him.

The roar of a car suddenly blasts in the desolate afternoon and Mark tenses, heart dropping in fear. He whirls, eyes searching frantically for Jack, finding him already sprinting towards the driver’s seat. Mark’s thoughts race. How did they find them?

Then the roar thunders again, and a familiar, sleek flash of blue rolls into the gas station, bumping along the uneven road. Mark relaxes instantly, muscles hurting from the sudden clenching. He recognizes the car.

The car is barely put into park when the occupant storms out of the driver’s seat straight towards Mark, not even bothering to slam the door shut. The blonde-haired newcomer shoots a glare at Jack before bellowing to Mark, “What _the fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

Lifting his hands in some semblance of an apology, Mark replies, “Doin’ what I always do, Felix. Something wrong with that?”

“Oh my god, Mark,” Felix gulps, scrubbing hands over his exhausted face. “The things I go through with your horsing around…”

He takes a moment to collect himself. “I’ve told you a million times before. We don’t _screw around_ with the other gangs, especially not with _his_ kind,” Felix points an accusing finger to Jack, who has silently been watching the exchange with mixed expression. “Figures I’d find you two here, doin’ god knows what with your… business. Whatever it is,” he spits the words out as if they leave a bad taste in his mouth.

He takes a step closer, expression intense. “I came all this way here, almost busting both mine and Marzia’s asses to give you the low-down since you haven’t been at any of the meet-ups lately.” There’s more than a hint of disapproval in his words. “Listen. We’re planning something. Something big and I don’t know what. But it’s going to be dangerous.”

“What? Whaddya mean you’re planning something?” Jack interjects, eyebrows drawn in anticipation.

Aside from a dirty look, Felix directs his answer to Mark, “They’re not telling me. That’s the worst fuckin’ part. I figure I should tell you guys so you can… prepare, or some shit like that,” he throws his arms up, turning back to his car.

Stunned into silence, Mark now opens his mouth. “You’re just gonna dump that onto us without any sorta clue–”

“I’m only doing this because we’ve been friends longer than we’ve been in this brotherhood.” He spins around swiftly, anger carefully contained. “I dunno what is up with you and your _pal_ here, but you must see something in him that I simply can’t. I don’t know. I don’t fucking care at this point.” Any response Mark would’ve retorted with is stopped by the deep fright in Felix’s faintly trembling gaze. “I’m looking out for you, buddy. I don’t wanna see you six feet under. Or worse.”

The quiet admission hits Mark heavily. Felix climbs into his car and drives off, the dust taking an eternity to settle between the two unmoving men. A lifetime passes before they meet eyes. On unspoken agreement they get into their cars.

And go to Neverland.

______

The lake is peaceful, but it is not devoid of movement. The tiny ripples calm Mark more than he thought it might, the wind breezily blowing past the two men lying in the soft grass. The drive here had mostly settled Mark’s nerves.

Driving with Jack is always a pleasure. Sometimes they’d race, revving up their souped up vehicles, and sometimes they’d go for an easy stroll, letting the road take them wherever. On one such drive they had found a little lake in the middle of nowhere, which they had jokily dubbed Neverland. Mark hadn’t been especially fond of Pater Pan but the name stuck, much to Jack’s liking.

“Fuckin’ Felix...” The body next to Mark complains to the cloudless sky above. “Should have never told him about the fucking run-down dump of a gas station…”

Mark shifts a little. “He’s a loyal friend. My best friend. He’s not gonna give us away. I know it.”

“He hates me. He hates my guts.” The acknowledgement twists Mark’s innards a bit.

But he laughs it off weakly, “It’s no secret, you idiot. But he’ll warm up to you.” He pauses, hope rising in his chest. “Give it time.” They watch the wind create more ripples in the water. In the distance the fields of corn dance in harmony.

“What did Felix mean when he said…” Jack turns to his side. In that moment Mark sees how transparent Jack has become. “About you…”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Mark interrupts, turning to face Jack. They’re inches away from each other. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” Distraught fingers weave through the rich grass. Breath intermingles, and suddenly Mark can’t get enough of Jack. “That cranky motherfucker’s just messin’ with ya.”

The gentle breeze turns up into a persistent gust and the cold suddenly gets to Mark. He shrinks into himself, hunkering down in his jacket. An arm pulls him close, brings him in, a shield from the unkind elements. A shiver forces its way out, followed by a heavy sigh. The content smile comes easy on his lips.

He feels a small hand muss his hair, a nose drifting across the fine strands. “What type of hair gel you use?”

Mark reflexively nudges his head closer to the poking nose, a smug grin resting on his face. “Why you wanna know? Jealous?”

A drowsy rumble tells him Jack is half-interested in the answer. “You wanna know my secret?” He waits. “None. I don’t use nothing.”

A scoff puffs against his scalp. “Don’t go pulling my leg. How the hell do you manage that mop on your head?”

“I’m serious,” Mark laughs. “I don’t use nothing.” He sinks a hand into Jack’s hair, tousling the carefully-styled locks apart. He chuckles at the muffled indignant protest. “Oh, lighten up. Your hair’s always been a fuckin’ mess.”

Eventually he weaves his fingertips deeper into the hair, lazy circling motions lulling the body enveloping him.  He flashes a wicked grin against cloth. Swiftly he swings a leg over Jack’s legs, clutching them with his thighs, climbing halfway atop the other man.

The body underneath stiffens in annoyance. “Mark, I’m not some dame you can just hitch a leg over and have your way with.” As if to support that statement he tries to push Mark back into his original position. The half-sleepy smile says otherwise.

Though he wobbles Mark is unyielding, and cackles at the ineffective attempt. “And I ain’t a dame to topple over easy.” He tries to squeeze his other leg in but now Jack is fighting back, a war of limbs entangling the two. A sneaked kiss here, a hard shove there; they go back and forth in a stalemate until eventually they tire, cheeks hurting from indulgent smiles.

They stay like that, tired yet so very happy. They hold each other, living in the present, forever in Neverland. The fear mere moments ago seem so far away now in Jack’s embrace: with each breath Jack takes, every movement he makes, Mark’s heart swells in pure happiness.

Everything he does with Jack is always twice as better.

______

Sometimes, when the separation gets too much they take certain risks. They lower their guards, meet up a bit too close to civilization. Most of the time they’re careful.

But sometimes it’s too risky.

Loud shots fire in the distance, the foreboding echoes reverberating through the parking lot sky like a war drum, trailed close behind by the screeching of tires, one after another after another. Mark ducks instinctively, uselessly covering his head with his hands.

He locates Jack squatting behind his green car, mere feet apart yet too far away. Mark starts to run across the empty space towards him but a series of tiny, penetrating thunks into metal stop him cold. A cacophony of whoops throws his heart into a panic, sends shivers down his spine. Tires squeal to a stop. Feet stomp on the pavement everywhere at once, more than Mark can count. Too many too near.

“Mark!” Rough but familiar hands shove from behind, sending him falling into his car. The same hands lift his legs in, working quickly yet tender, intimately aware of every curve and muscle.

“They’re after both of us.” Above chaotic din the whispered sentence pierces Mark’s ears and he struggles to look back. Blue eyes meet with his.

“Go to Neverland, ya hear me? You can’t let them get you.” The hurried instructions are spoken with glances over the shoulder, chilling screams ringing from behind. “I’ll meet you there. Okay?” Those graceful hands are on his face, cupping his cheeks, before covering his lips in a haunting kiss, ablaze with desperation, just barely overpowered by a pure fiery love.

The lips are ripped away soon though, and Jack whirls a fist into the person behind him, slamming Mark’s car door shut. Automatically Mark’s body go through the motions; he’s telling them to stop, to get out the stupid car and fight but it’s like they have a mind of their own. _Go to Neverland. He’ll meet you there._ Mark holds tight to those words.

He looks out the window. Strangers descend upon the man Mark cherishes, agonizingly, slowly surrounding him. Fists held up in unwavering determination, Jack looks straight into Mark’s eyes. “Ya hear me? Go to Neverland!”

For once, Mark does what he is told.

So he drives. And he drives and he drives and the road is getting blurry because of the tears streaming down his eyes and he can’t help but hiccup the most horrible sobs, an aching in the depths of his being throbbing uncontrollably. He stares at his hands gripping madly at the steering wheel, eyes only seeing Jack’s slender hands, the feel of them caressing his body in a way no one had ever done before. He has never felt this way before in his life.

The lake comes in view and he stumbles carelessly out of the car, dropping to his hands and knees at the water’s edge. Jack said he’d meet him there. A brave soul, a cunning companion: someone like him doesn’t back down on his word. _I’ll meet you there._ Someone like him can get out of any situation, no matter what. He’s tenacious.

But Mark knows there’s no way he’s getting out alive.

An anguish he’s never felt before rises up, blocking his airways, tormenting his mind. Hot forehead pressed into wet grass, he realizes just how much he loves Jack.

From far away he hears the sounds of whooping getting ever more closer.

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this dream recently, which was quite similar to the first half of the last scene - the ambush-type one, and though I changed it a bit to fit the story, it still held that helplessness and panic that my dream had. 
> 
> And this was also an experiment with how tough guys expressed affection, namely back when such things were considered odd, such as the 50's, around the time where The Outsiders takes place. This is my train of thought, people. Naturally I decided to combine the two and see how it came out. Let me know what you think!


End file.
